Dating Shouto Is A Hassle For A Girl Who Doesn’t Much Like Kids. 

omg I liked your drummer bakugou au sooo much 🙏🙏 if requests are open, could you maybe do something for kaminari in this au? like maybe he is a guitarist & reader is clueless about his crush because she thinks he likes their vocalist (jirou)

feel free to ignore & happy new year xoxo 💋

oh my godddddddd oh my gooddd i always have sm fun writing for denks HEHHEHE thank you for the req and happy new years!!!!!!

cherry flavored // denki kaminari

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mha tag: @lotuslovers @babylambdietcoke @0skullyard0 @kaldurahms-lover @commonmisery @moonstonejpg

Denki smau he works at your favorite small pizza place and he specifically switches with waiters whenever you come in to shamelessly flirt with you! He finally asks for your number

pizza dates

d.kaminari

-in which he works at your local pizza place, and your his favourite customer.

008. CARNATIONS

Endeavor's privilege of ever stepping foot in the same room as Touya had been rightfully revoked for the next four months. And after that time was up, Touya's state would be reevaluated to determine if Endeavor would ever be allowed to see or speak to him again.

The weeks after the incident consisted of multiple surgeries. His burns, thankfully, were not as bad as they had once been.

You're not sitting in your usual spot. You're sitting on Touya's bed today—criss crossed as he sat right beside you. A chilling breeze blew through the room, sending the curtains fluttering as you shiver. You reach up and pull the window close, locking it.

Right now, you're teaching Touya how to make paper snowflakes. There was glitter, markers, and stray scraps of paper everywhere. Touya's eyes are narrowed in concentration as he watched you angle your scissors, your gentle tone giving him step by step instructions on how to cut out the necessary shapes and folds

"Okay...we overlap and cut the triangle in the corner over here, Touya." You mumble, tongue poked out just the slightest bit in concentration as you cut with every ounce of attention and care you could give. Touya's eyes flickered between his sheet of paper and back to yours, his hands near trembling as he struggled to create the same cuts in the paper you made with ease.

After an agonizing ten minutes, you're unfolding your paper to reveal a pretty snowflake. Touya watches the way your eyes gleam with pride as you hold it up for him. It was elegant with clean cuts on each corner, obviously made by someone who knew what they were doing. Hesitantly, Touya unfolds his own paper before staring down at the monstrosity in his lap blankly

"This is the ugliest fucking thing I've ever laid eyes on, Y/n." Touya mumbles dryly, holding up his snowflake with so much distaste in his expression that you can't even hold back your laugh

Touya catches the smile tugging at your lips, and he can't even be mad. He can't blame you for his snowflake turning out so messed up. Every time you were voicing the directions for him, he was too busy looking at your face instead of paying attention to his snowflake. But it's not his fault! You were so engrossed in cutting, and he had the perfect opportunity to stare at you as openly and shamelessly as he wanted to without you noticing.

"Touya, I'm not quite sure what to say. I mean—it's very...unique!" You voice, trying to contain your smile as you smooth out the crinkled edges of his paper

"Yeah, yeah..." He mumbles, staring at you quietly as you try to fix his snowflake—if you could even call it one. He's snapped out of his trance when you place your hand over his and grab the scissors, guiding his movements to make minor incisions into the paper

"We can cut these parts off to fix the shape..." You whisper, concentration lining every single one of your features as you snip away

The day Touya allowed you to physically hold him for the first time was when the invisible boundary between the two of you had been erased. He lets you touch him now—hold him and comfort him when some nights are harder than others.

Your hand is a lot smaller than his. He could cup the entirety of it in his palm alone if he wanted to. Your slender fingers curl around his rougher and larger ones along with the scissors, and you feel soft against his skin.

You take your warmth with you when you pull your hand away, excitedly waiting for Touya to unfold the new snowflake as you smile. He unfolds it with his own grin, which widens a bit when he sees the finished product.

It was a little wonky, and maybe some edges were torn from Touya's fingertips pressing into them too hard—but the two of you had made it together, so it was perfect in Touya's eyes.

"Let's tape them onto the window!" You chirp, quickly hopping off of the bed as Touya follows behind you. You quickly tear a piece of tape off and hand it to Touya. He tapes his snowflake high on the window. The snow outside the hospital fell softly. There were strong gusts of wind that carried the falling snowflakes and had them dancing and swirling through the air

Touya watched you stand on your tippy toes—trying to get your snowflake as high as his. Carefully, he grabs your wrist and uses his other hand to pry the snowflake out of your grip before he grabs the tape and secures it right beside his on the window

You blink a bit in surprise when he does this, before smiling softly to yourself as he carefully taped it

After they're hung, the two of you step back to admire your work. There's hundred of snowflakes littering the window on the other side of the glass. You and Touya's much larger snowflakes fit like puzzle pieces amongst the mass of the much smaller ones

"I think we did an excellent job, Touya!" You grin, tucking your hand into a fist as you rest your chin on it. Touya merely hums in response, watching your eyes shine with satisfaction before you turn around, hands moving to rest on your hips.

"All right...now it's clean up time." You pout, eyes raking over all of the arts and crafts scaling the room as Touya nods with a grunt, already beginning to pick up the scraps of paper that were on his bed

You both work in peaceful silence, working efficiently and maneuvering around each other easily as you clean. How the two of you managed to make such a mess in just barely over an hour is beyond you. But cleaning up with Touya is calming. The whole feeling is simply domestic—and you feel silly trying to imagine you and Touya in a different environment besides the hospital

Maybe...maybe he'd enjoy doing little crafts and activities like this in your living room with you. You quickly shake away the thought, embarrassed with yourself as you sneak a quick glance towards Touya—who was screwing the lid back onto a small bottle of glue that laid on his side table

You sigh quietly enough so he doesn't hear, mentally scolding yourself for allowing your feelings to peak through once again. Your heart wasn't your priority, Touya's heart was. It didn't matter what you wanted, what he needed was more important.

Once you toss the remaining scraps into the dust bin, you see Touya already sitting on the edge of his bed idly. His long legs are stretched out in front of him comfortably as he tilts his head at you, a hint of curiosity in his eyes

"What'cha thinking about?"

Touya was extremely attentive. Most patients struggled to pick up on small cues or even notice the little things. They were usually up in their own world and rarely ever focused on the people around them

Touya was the exact opposite. He managed to catch every shift in your expression and pinpoint the exact moment your mood changes. Which unfortunately, was not a good thing for you. You had a pretty bad poker face—that was something Touya had learned pretty quickly.

"Oh! Uh—I was thinking that maybe we could, uh, play a board game?"

Touya smirks a bit when you fumble with your words. He nods with a hum, knowing well you were lying but deciding he'd let you get away with it this time

You send him a flustered nod, quickly exiting the room and clicking the door close a little too fast, leaving Touya alone with his thoughts.

You take a steadying breath as you board the elevator, pressing the first floor button as you tap your foot against the tiled floor. You allow your back to rest against the wall as you squeeze your eyes shut, letting out a groan of embarrassment.

Exiting the elevator with a pout and eyes glued to the floor, you don't even notice your supervisor scrambling towards you with a frantic look in her eyes as she desperately tries to warn you. Unfortunately, you don't hear her until it's too late—the Todorokis reach you before she does

"Y/n," Shoto calls out to you, a tinge of relief in his tone at the sight of you as you whip around to meet his voice in surprise

Beside Shoto stood Natsuo, Fuyumi, and Rei Todoroki. You freeze in place, slowly meeting their curious gazes with parted lips

This was very unexpected. You're at a loss of words for a moment as you let their presence solidify in your mind—the gears shifting in your head when you see the scars carved onto each one of their faces

Rei watched you with round and attentive eyes, and you finally swallow the lump in your throat as you approach the family

"I am so sorry—I—wow."

Rei smiles kindly at you, but Fuyumi is the one to step forward and speak up

"Hello Y/n, I'm Fuyumi—Shoto's older sister! I'm sure he's told you about us, right?" She questions with a nervous laugh, sending Shoto a weary glance as the teenage boy stares back blankly, not catching on

You smile at Shoto's obliviousness, nodding your head quickly. Fuyumi smiles before they all bow in greeting the same way Shoto did whenever he'd meet you—you should've known the rest of the family would be just as traditional as him, and you quickly bow in respect to match their greeting before gesturing your head towards the hall

"I'm guessing you're all here to discuss something important. Let's go to my office, please."

Your office is cozy. Various plants are scattered all over and lamps hang low from the ceiling, casting the small room in a warm glow—the atmosphere was welcoming and seemed to put everyone at ease the moment they stepped in. It was a much welcomed change compared to the harsh white lights in the hospital's waiting area.

"We want to start off by apologizing for my father's actions. He was being stupid. Again. We've all spoken to him about what happened, and he hoped we would tell you he is truly sorry." Shoto starts, his voice heavy with truth and guilt. Rei watched you intently as her youngest son spoke, wanting to see your reaction.

"I understand, Shoto. Thank you." You reply softly as Shoto glances towards his siblings and mother before leaning back onto the couch. It's Natsuo who speaks up next.

"I know we haven't spoken in person before, Y/n. But I just...I wanted to thank you. Shoto's told me all you've done for my brother—Touya's always been stubborn and hard to understand. I didn't have much faith in a full recovery for him, especially with the shit our father pulls. But—" Natsuo's voice trembles as he suddenly cuts himself off, dropping his head in his hands as he lets out a shuddering breath

Fuyumi places a hand on her brother's back and rubs it in an attempt to comfort him before taking a deep breath

"Touya is our brother. We need to help him. And...it's been a while since he's been admitted into this program. And we've talked it over with your boss and the other doctors after looking over the contract we signed..." She trails off, suddenly at a loss for words as you nod your head slowly, encouraging her to continue.

"Touya's allowed to have monitored visits out of the hospital if it means it'll improve his condition...Our dad moved out so he won't be a problem at all, Y/n! I mean, the contract said if you gave us the green light telling us Touya was stable enough then there was a possibility...But we won't do anything unless you think it's okay! We just...want him home for the holidays. New Years is almost here, and it's a time for new beginnings. What better way to start it than with Touya-nii?"

Touya is bored.

You were supposed to be getting his board game, yet you've been gone for nearly half an hour. He's not worried, merely annoyed with the fact that you were probably whisked away to partake in some side task

The remote plugged into the side of his bed was for emergencies only. But right now, it was practically singing his name. Touya's finger hovers over the red button, and with a silent apology—he presses it about a dozen times before hanging it back onto the side of his bed

He lies down, folding his arms behind his head with a sly grin as he taps his foot against the edge of his bed, already looking forward to your inevitable return.

The silence after Fuyumi's words stretched for only a few moments before Touya's buzzer rang like hell—blaring loudly as everyone in the room flinched from the sound.

You wince, desperately trying to mute it as your hands miss the power off button four times from pure nerves

"Touya..." You whisper, pulling yourself out of your seat

"I'm so sorry, I need to go see him—can we please reschedule for all of us to meet again? Maybe sometime tomorrow?" You wince, bowing your head in shame at your sudden departure as Rei finally speaks

"That's ok. You can just call and let us know of your decision. We told you everything we needed to." She says, slowly standing up as your heart rate picks up

This woman was Touya's mother. That fact makes you look at her differently.

"Of course—I'll get back to you all as soon as I can. Oh! Hold on!" You say, moving to the side of your desk and grabbing the small bowl that laid on the corner

"Candy?"

None of them can refuse your kind smile. They all pick one out before filing out of your office, bidding you goodbye. Shoto sends you one last lingering look over his shoulder before he quietly closes the door behind him

After quite literally collapsing against the wall, you take a deep breath in an attempt to collect yourself and make sense of what had just happened

They want Touya to go home for the holidays. You were suddenly glad you didn't have to give them a response right now, because you couldn't. Not without talking to Touya first, at least. You were still unsure on how he felt about his mother or siblings, especially Shoto. It was territory you hadn't ventured into with Touya yet, and the fact that you had to do it now made your insides squeeze with anxiety

The walk back to his room was not a pleasant one.

Touya knows something is wrong when he catches sight of the look on your face. That and the fact that you had returned without his board game.

"What's wrong?"

His frown only deepens when he's met with silence, and you slowly approach his bed before sitting on your chair beside him. Your fingers trace patterns on your thigh as your brows furrow, eyes in deep thought.

You finally turn to look at him. He stares back silently, unblinking. It was like he refused to blink at all—afraid he'd miss something in your expression that would explain what had you all quiet like this.

"Touya...how do you feel about Shoto?"

He goes rigid beside you in an instant, and you almost wince at the way his eyes ice over. He doesn't respond. His eyes just bore into yours as he tries to figure out where this conversation was going.

"Fuyumi and Natsuo, too. And...your mother."

His eyes are as hard as ice now. It reminds you of how he looked at you when you'd first met him—feelings and emotions swimming under the frozen layer that caged them as they thrashed against the solid ice in a desperate attempt to break free.

His gaze slowly narrows, and you finally realize how hard he was gripping the sheets beneath him when you look down and see his knuckles had turned a ghostly white.

"Is that why you were gone so long? Were you talking with them?"

He spits the words out before he can stop himself, and they come out so much meaner than he wanted them too. His shoulders slump in defeat as the tension in his brows disperses the slightest bit, all before he lets out a sigh.

"How do I feel about them...how do you think I feel about them?"

"I think you love them."

He scoffs at the nerve you have. And the fact that you're right.

He finally looks away from you, glaring at the ground instead of you because you don't deserve his attitude.

"Course I fucking do. Doesn't mean I want to see them. Not now, not ever." He mumbled quietly. He was lying. Both of you knew it.

Shoto. Mom. Natsuo. Fuyumi. Just thinking of them made his head hurt. Made his heart hurt.

You can sense the unease in Touya's muscles as he bit the inside of his cheek, and you realize he's trying not to cry when he squeezes his eyes shut in frustration with himself.

"Let's end the night here, Touya. Lay in bed and just...think about it. This isn't easy—not the slightest bit. I want to give you some alone time so you can really figure out how you feel, okay?" You say softly, gently pushing on his shoulders to lay him down

He gives you no verbal response, just nodding his head at your words as his head hits the pillow.

He lays stiffly, watching as you pack your bag as you routinely do before you leave. He's slowly building the courage to speak what's on his mind...

"Are they all okay? After..."

Your eyes soften when you understand what he's asking, slowly approaching his bed as you try and find the right words. All of them would be scarred for life after Touya's attack. Mentally, and physically.

"Everyone was affected deeply by the war. But your family misses you, Touya. What happened in the past can never be erased or forgotten, but we can do our best to make up for our mistakes."

He's quiet again. He's deep in thought for a while before he slowly nods

"I'll think about what you said."

You nod softly, turning off his lamp. Touya looks like a kicked down puppy, his eyes tired and sad and he looks like he could take a nap that lasted for a century.

You can't stop yourself from leaning down and pressing a soft, lingering kiss onto his forehead.

Touya's not stupid. He knows doctors aren't this gentle and loving with their patients. You know this too. His gaze speaks a million emotions as he stares at you with wide eyes

Your fighting the urge to climb into the hospital bed with Touya to simply hold him. Touya slowly reaches out for your hand, his scarred lips brushing against your knuckles as he whispers goodnight into your hand, pressing a soft kiss onto your skin.

CARNATIONS MASTERLIST.

a/n; hi babiesss :3 this chapter was much needed after the last few. also, comment if u think touya would like to meet y/n's cats! (she's a cat lady in case u couldn't tell) also this girl is gonna get her ass FIRED is she keeps this up lmaoo & rememberrrr i love u all!! i'm having so much fun with carnations and i'm glad you all are too :)

tags! (tysm for all the support you sweet souls 🥺🩷🩷🩷)

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@bitch-spaghetti-o

Day 24093 This is my house. I won’t allow anyone to harm it. There should have been no more intruders after the last one. I do not want these people here. They will leave-

Day 24095 They are siblings. They are loud. Always singing and talking and stomping. As if they must be louder than anything else.

Day 24106 There are bolts on the door now. Bolts and hideous, gaudy new locks. How dare they-

Night 24112 I was going to fill the night with terrors. But he woke up screaming before I began. She came running from the other room. They sleep right across the hall from each other, with the doors on a crack. …they are young, are they not, to be living on their own. Was I ever so young?

Day 24114 She has fixed the squeak in the door at the top of the stairs. It never squeaked when I still lived.

Day 24121 The noise of the doorbell scares them. But they get so many deliveries. It is a good bell. It has worked all these years- I can see one of the men coming now with his packages, trudging up to the door. …perhaps if I knock before he is here, they will come and look before he can sound the bell.

Day 24129 He is planting flowers in boxes on my windowsills. I always wished I could have some flowers.

Night 24137 She is afraid of the dark. I could see it in her eyes when she got out of bed. …I lit the lamps for her.

Day 24142 They have moved the couch to the sun spot a little to the right of the window. That is where I used to have my armchair. It is the only sensible place for it.

Day 24163 Sometimes the noises of the world are suddenly too much for him. He winces and tries not to sway his head. This is my house. …I can keep it calm and quiet for a while.

Day 24178 She just got a phone call and now they are both laughing. Laughter is a good sound, isn’t it. They said this house has been good luck…

Night 24205 They are singing in our kitchen. He found my cookbook in the gap at the back of the kitchen cabinet and now they are trying to cook. They wanted to start with the soufflé. They don’t even know how to make béchamel! I turned the page to the casserole instead.

Day 24236 This is my house. These are my boarders. I won’t allow anyone to harm them.

The Heart Cracks Before it Shatters (Pt3) ⋆｡°✩ Bakugou Katsuki

Masterlist ୨ৎ pt1 pt2

Katsuki Goes home.

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Glitter 𐔌 𐦯 : Bakugous perspective again, alot of sad internal thoughts here. Hope you like! thank you for the support on this yall.

Warnings : Angsty, Female!Reader, Reader is a wife, Reader has children, bakugou is very sad, agruments, swearing, sadness, aged up characters, childern, babies.

W/C : ~5.8k

.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊

Katsuki loves to cook for you. 

It was your third date, and your first time at Katsuki’s house. Though he’d never admit it, he spent hours scrubbing down his small, somewhat cramped apartment (too much money went into his car, after all). Spending an absurd amount of time considering whether or not he should hide his All Might merch, before deciding to move it into his bedroom for safe keeping. 

Your last date had been at some overpriced restaurant downtown when he’d proposed the idea. “I’ll cook for you next time,” he’d said, cocky and sure. “Show you what real food tastes like.” You had laughed, and he had raised an eyebrow, because he wasn’t joking. He wasn’t lying about his food being fucking fantastic, cause it was usually, he just didn’t anticipate that he would be acting below optimally today. 

He didn’t confront it at the time, but cooking was proving difficult from the bubbling nerves in his stomach, the knife shaking in his careful hands. He’d already restarted the dish twice—first after dropping a whole garlic clove in, then again when he over-salted the sauce. And it was all due to his shaky fucking hands. 

He settled on katsu curry, a recipe from his dad. Simple, reliable, and good enough to impress without making it obvious how much effort he was putting in. 

His phone buzzed in his pocket. You’d be there in 30 minutes. His pulse spiked, though he wasn’t sure if it was excitement or nerves. He hadn’t felt like this in a long time—not for someone normal like you.

Not that he meant normal as an insult. You just weren’t a hero, or a celebrity, but you still had him hooked. And that was rare.

When he was younger he had been actively avoiding it, busy with more important things to be wasting his time on things he considered trivial. Then after, it was more he just wasn’t finding anyone that interested him, no one worth exchanging a second glance with. So now, with you, he feels like a teenager. 

It isn't until you take your first bite, when awe flashes in your eyes and you smile while you chew, that Katsuki finally feels air in his lungs and his shoulders drop.

“I’ll make you something even better next time,” he had said, and he meant it.

And he did. Over and over, he did. He liked seeing that look on your face. Liked making you happy.

Until… well. Until he stopped.

Now, he can barely remember the last time he made you and the girls a proper home-cooked meal. Maybe a year ago, when your parents came over for your birthday. He remembers the way you had come downstairs that morning, hair a little messy, eyes bright with surprise.

“Katsuki…?”

He had turned to look at you, but there was no warmth in his expression. Maybe even a flicker of annoyance.

“Yeah?”

“Oh, I…” You had laughed nervously, shifting on your feet. “Just… um. What are you cooking?”

“Katsu curry.”

“Oh!” You had moved closer, peeking over his shoulder. “Wow… it smells really good. Like always.”

And that was it. No teasing. No awe. Just a small, hesitant smile, like you weren’t sure if this was something you were allowed to be happy about.

Like it had been so long since he did something like this, you didn’t know what it meant anymore.

He chops the onion harder at the memory, the knife clinking against the cutting board from the force. In the living room, the girls are still in their pajamas, curled up on the couch despite the time. He tries to recall what you would usually do to keep them entertained on a Saturday, chopping faster with each thought, each memory that feels further away.

After an awkward breakfast of pancakes—because pancakes felt like the safe choice, and all kids like pancakes, right?—he busies himself in the kitchen, prepping soup for lunch. Something simple. Something safe. Kids need their vegetables… or something like that. He had looked up recipes online, scrolled through a dozen articles about “healthy meals for picky eaters,” and gotten to work. Because the alternative (asking his own kids what they actually like) sits like lead in his stomach. They wouldn’t think twice about the question, wouldn’t realize it’s because their own father doesn’t know their preferences.

But Katsuki would know. And his pride won’t let him admit it.

His head is already aching when a sharp scream cuts through the apartment. He whips around, eyes immediately locking onto Koharu, red-faced and wailing. Riko is at her side, whispering something soft, trying to calm her down. Would she be doing that if you were here? Would she feel like she had to?

His chest tightens.

“Hey, hey, sweetheart,” he murmurs, quickly setting the knife aside and crossing the room. He lifts Koharu into his arms, cradling her close as he gently bounces her. “What’s wrong, huh?”

Her tiny fists clutch at his shirt as the sobs shake her little body. He presses his lips to the top of her head, rubbing slow circles on her back.

“Don’t cry, baby. You’re breaking Daddy’s heart.”

His voice is softer than he thought it would be, almost pleading. He wipes the tears from her hot cheeks with the pad of his thumb, shushing her lightly. 

He rocks Koharu gently, her hiccupping sobs slowing, little hands still clutching at his shirt. He doesn’t know what set her off. Doesn’t know what usually comforts her best. When she cries like this, what do you do?

He can guess. He’s seen it, even if he never really paid attention. You’d take her into your arms without missing a beat, murmur something soft against her temple, rub slow, sure circles into her back. You’d hum, maybe sing—off-key, but the girls loved it anyway. Maybe you’d take her to the kitchen and grab her a snack, something small, something easy. Something she likes.

His stomach twists.

“I got you,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to her forehead, hoping the words will be enough. “I got you, baby.”

She sniffs, breathing uneven against his chest, but she’s settling. He lets out a quiet breath. It’s barely past noon, and he’s already exhausted.

Kirishima had texted earlier, checking in. Said he could swing by if Katsuki needed a break. He’d almost said yes before he caught himself. You wouldn’t get a break. You never did.

His phone buzzes again, but this time, it’s a different name.

[12:14 PM] The Hag : Don’t forget Katsuki, we’re expecting you all at dinner tonight. 

He exhales sharply through his nose. Right. Dinner at his parents’ house. You’d planned it weeks ago. 

“Your mom wants us over for dinner next Saturday,” you said, standing in the kitchen, leaning against the counter. Your voice was soft, like you weren’t sure how he’d take it. “She says the girls need a proper meal.”

Katsuki barely looked up from his phone. “They eat just fine.”

You let out a breath, pushing your fingers against your temple. “Yeah, I know, I just—” You hesitated, chewing your lip. “She thought it’d be nice.”

There was a pause, the words lingering, like maybe there was something else you wanted to say.

He scrolled idly through his screen. “You already told her we’d go, didn’t you?”

You let out a small, tired laugh. “Yeah.”

He exhaled sharply through his nose. “Whatever.”

Silence stretched between you, but you didn’t move. You were watching him—he could feel it, that quiet, exhausted sort of stare. He glanced up just as you shifted your weight, like you were thinking about something, like you were deciding whether or not to say it.

“…You know, you could start cooking again.”

The words were careful. Like you were testing the waters, trying not to step on a landmine.

His brow twitched. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You sighed, thumb pressing against your temple again. “It’s just…” You hesitated, voice quieter now, almost cautious. “You used to like it. Remember that?”

“I don’t have time to cook.”

Your lips parted, but you didn’t say anything right away. Instead, your shoulders dropped slightly, a slow breath leaving you.

“I don’t either,” you finally murmured. “But I still do.”

There was no bite behind it. No anger. Just a fact. A quiet truth laid bare between you, almost too fragile to touch.

His eyes snapped up then, irritation flickering. “Not all of us have the luxury of free time you have.”

You flinched, just a little, but you covered it quickly, shaking your head. “No, I just…” Your fingers rubbed absently over a spot on the counter. “I just thought it’d be nice, that’s all.”

He exhaled through his nose, barely looking at you now. “Okay, then.”

You nodded, like you hadn’t expected anything more. Then, without another word, you turned back toward the sink, shoulders drawn, something weary in the way you moved.

He never cooked that week. Or the week after.

And now, standing in the kitchen with his daughters waiting in the other room, that moment hits him with a new kind of weight.

It wasn’t just about the food. It never was.

~

He cleans up the living room while the girls start getting ready to head over to grandmas, barely keeping his eyes open. 

Katsuki rubs a hand down his face, exhaling sharply. His mother is going to take one look at him, at the girls, at the empty space beside him, and she’s going to know.

And she’s going to say something.

He can already hear her voice in his head. What the hell did you do this time?

Because Mitsuki Bakugou raised him. She knows every stubborn inch of him, knows exactly what kind of man he grew up to be. And she sure as hell knows you. She likes you too much not to notice the way you’ve suddenly vanished from the picture.

And if they don’t show up, if he even thinks about bailing, she’s going to lose her damn mind.

Not just because she’ll know something is off, but because she’s Mitsuki Bakugou, and the woman has no patience for bullshit. She’ll call, and when he doesn’t answer, she’ll call again. And again. And again. And if he still doesn’t pick up? She’ll just show the hell up at his front door.

A small sigh pulls him from his thoughts, and he turns to see Riko standing in the doorway.

She’s already in the dress you picked out for her weeks ago, but her face is twisted in frustration, lips pulled into a pout.

“Daddy,” she huffs, arms crossing over her chest. “I can’t do my hair.”

Katsuki blinks. “Huh?”

She groans, marching over to him and spinning around, pointing to the mess of tangles at the back of her head. “It’s all wrong.”

He stares at her. Then at her hair. Then back at her.

Oh.

Shit.

He suddenly realizes he’s never actually done her hair before.

You always did it. Every morning, without fail. Brushing it out, tying it up, pulling it into little braids or ponytails—sometimes you even put those dumb sparkly clips in it that she loved so much.

And now she’s looking at him like he’s supposed to know what to do.

He clears his throat, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh. What… do you want me to do with it?”

She lets out another dramatic sigh. “Just make it nice.”

Before he can respond, she’s already stomping off to her room, and he hesitates before following, comb in hand.

Riko plops onto the floor in front of him, and Katsuki crouches behind her, comb in hand. He squints at her hair like it’s some kind of puzzle, hesitating before dragging the comb through it.

Riko yelps. “Ow!”

Katsuki freezes. “What?”

“You yanked it!”

“I barely touched you!”

She huffs, twisting to glare up at him. “Mommy never pulls my hair.”

“Tch.” He exhales through his nose, loosening his grip. “Well, Mommy isn’t here, so quit whining and hold still.”

Riko grumbles but turns forward again, and in the mirror, she’s still glaring daggers at him. He almost smirks.

You always used to say she was a mini-him, loud and stubborn just like he was, but he’d never really seen it before. She’d always been his little princess. And sure, she’s still a princess—just one who’s currently scowling at him like she’d take him down if given the chance.

Yeah. She’s definitely his brat.

With a sigh, he works through her hair a little gentler this time, ignoring the tight feeling in his chest when he realizes how much work this actually is.

How much work you did every single day.

How much work he never even noticed.

When he finally finishes, the ponytail is a little uneven, but it’s secure. Good enough.

Riko turns, running her hands over her hair with a thoughtful expression. Then, to his surprise, she grins.

“It’s not terrible.”

He snorts. “Gee, thanks.”

She giggles, then suddenly launches forward, wrapping her arms around his neck.

Katsuki stills, caught off guard, before gently squeezing her back.

“Thanks, Daddy,” she mumbles against his shoulder.

“…Yeah.” His voice is quiet. “Anytime, bug.”

He pulls back slightly, ruffling her hair with a smirk. “Alright,” he huffs. “Let me go wake up brat number two, and then we’ll get going.”

Riko gasps, scandalized. “I’M NOT A BRAT!”

Katsuki just snorts, already walking out of the room, smirk still firmly in place.

Katsuki wakes Koharu with as much patience as he can muster—which, admittedly, isn’t much. She whines, burrowing deeper into her blankets, tiny hands gripping onto his shirt when he tries to sit her up. Eventually, he manages to get her dressed, all while Riko stands in the doorway, hands on her hips, offering extremely unhelpful commentary.

By the time they’re in the car, Koharu is still pouting sleepily in her car seat, and Riko is humming some song under her breath. Katsuki grips the wheel tighter than necessary, jaw set as they pull out of the driveway.

He doesn’t want to do this.

He’d always complained about dinners with his parents, even back when you were first dating. It took him nearly nine months to introduce you, and it would've been even longer if you hadn’t come to him one day, quietly asking if the reason he hadn’t introduced you was because he ‘didn’t see this as something long term.’

It had hurt more than he liked to admit—he hated seeing that look on your face. So, against his usual stubbornness, he agreed. He suffered through that first dinner with them, and he continued to suffer through them for years after, because his mom absolutely liked you more than him.

She used to tease him about it, laughing softly when Mitsuki would pull you aside, talking your ear off about some childhood story Katsuki really didn’t need you knowing. You’d give him a little look over your shoulder, amused, like you knew he was barely holding it together. And later, when you two were alone, you’d tell him how nice his mom really was, how she just cared, and he’d scoff, grumbling about how you were wrong—but deep down, he liked that you got along.

Now, though? He’d take his mother favoring you over him in a heartbeat if it meant you were still here.

The drive is quiet, the weight of his thoughts heavier than the silence in the car. By the time he parks in front of his parents’ house, his fingers ache from gripping the wheel too tight. He barely has the chance to unbuckle before the front door swings open. 

“My angels!” Mitsuki wails dramatically, her arms wide as she stands in the doorway, a soft smirk playing on her lips. Behind her, Katsuki’s dad stands by the door, casually leaning against the frame, wearing his usual apron.

Koharu lets out a small whimper as Katsuki lifts her from her car seat, the little girl immediately burying her face into his shoulder. Riko, on the other hand, sprints over into her grandmother’s arms, dragging her little bag behind her, a grin on her face as Mitsuki scoops her up.

“I’m kidnapping you both, AND THAT’S FINAL!” Mitsuki huffs, smothering Riko with tight, exaggerated affection, but her eyes immediately scan past Katsuki, searching. She doesn’t find who she’s looking for.

Her eyes narrow, sharp as always. Then, they flick back up to him, and he knows exactly what’s coming.

“Where’s your wife?” she asks, her voice a little too calm, too knowing.

Katsuki exhales sharply through his nose, shifting Koharu in his arms as he meets her gaze. “Busy,” he mutters, trying to keep the discomfort from creeping into his voice.

Mitsuki’s brows furrow deeply, the usual softness in her gaze replaced with something closer to concern. She takes a long, deliberate look at him, then at the girls, before her eyes settle back on him again.

Finally, she exhales, shaking her head. “Dinner’s almost ready. Get inside.”

It’s a temporary reprieve. He knows that. Mitsuki will press him on it before the night is over.

As his mother drags Riko inside, Katsuki gently follows, carefully toeing off his shoes with Koharu still in his arms.

“How are you doing, Katsuki?”

His dad’s voice is soft but full of that quiet concern, a gentle smile on his face as he watches his son carefully.

Katsuki adjusts Koharu in his arms, avoiding his dad’s gaze, and mutters, “Fine… fuckin’ busy or whatever.”

His dad steps a little closer, that calming presence always so different from his mother’s sharpness. With a tender touch, he strokes Koharu’s hair as she clings to Katsuki’s chest, half-asleep and unaware of the silent exchange happening between them.

“You shouldn’t curse in front of the little one,” his dad muses, his tone more lighthearted than critical.

“Yeah, 'cause she knows what I’m saying,” Katsuki mutters, glancing at Koharu, still resting in his arms.

His dad chuckles softly, shaking his head. "You look tired, son. Have you been overworking again?"

Whenever his dad uses that tone, Katsuki feels like he’s 13 again, and his dad is correcting him for the way he would talk to Izuku. In some ways, it hits harder than his mother’s loud words ever could, because she’s direct, and his dad—his dad can see right through him, in a way that makes him retreat into his shell even more.

“A little, not a big deal,” Katsuki mutters, his eyes drifting away, not wanting to meet his dad's gaze.

His dad doesn’t let it slide. "And Y/N? How is she?"

The question catches Katsuki off guard, the mention of your name feels like an unexpected weight. His dad’s gaze is soft, almost too knowing. Katsuki shifts Koharu in his arms, his mouth suddenly dry.

“She’s…” he trails off, staring down at Koharu, as if the answer is buried in her messy curls. “She’s fine, just... busy, you know?”

His dad’s eyes narrow slightly, but he doesn’t press further. He just watches him quietly, giving him the space to either lie or open up. But for now, his dad doesn't press. He just watches him quietly, as if letting Katsuki decide if he’s ready to say something real.

The lie he’s telling isn’t even a good one, cause no matter how busy you are, you always made sure to make time for these sorta dinners. And his dad knows that. But, he doesn’t say anything in return, which is somehow worse.

He sighs quietly and reaches out, gently lifting Koharu from Katsuki’s arms. The little girl, now wide awake, babbles happily as her grandfather coos at her, running his hand through her hair. "Go settle in, son," his dad says, his voice soft, but firm. “I’ll take care of her for a bit.”

Before he turns to go, his dad adds, his tone gentle yet knowing, “But… maybe let’s speak later? Okay?”

Katsuki swallows hard, he hates that the way his dad is talking already makes him sound like a failure, like he already knows it was Katsuki that messed up. Like he can read through all of Katsuki’s bullshit and see the cracks he’s trying so hard to hide. It makes him feel like a damn failure, like it’s obvious to everyone that he’s the problem

“Why? You got something you need to say?” Katsuki snaps, the defensive tone escaping before he can stop it. His dad doesn’t flinch, doesn’t react, just stands there like he’s waiting for the storm to pass.

The sharpness in his voice cuts through the house, and even the chatter from the kitchen quiets just a bit. Why is he making everyone walk on eggshells around him?

He isn’t a villain, he tells himself. So what if he… messed up a little? It’s not the end of the world, right? He could’ve done worse. He could’ve been unfaithful, or a bad provider, or—

His thoughts come to a screeching halt as he meets his dad’s gaze.

His dad has always been the perfect role model. Attentive. Doting. Patient. And here Katsuki is, a mess of frustration, guilt, and pride that’s been spilling over more and more lately. He could never be like his dad.

Katsuki’s jaw clenches, but something in him softens, ever so slightly, as he exhales a frustrated breath. He’s tired, so damn tired. One minute, things were okay—well, good enough, and then somehow, it all unraveled. Too fast.

He wishes, selfishly, that he could find a way to blame you for all of this. If he could just shift the blame, maybe he could breathe again, maybe he could sleep a little easier at night. But that’s not the truth. He knows it. You tried. For years. You tried to tell him, to show him how tired you were, how stretched thin, how hungry for something that was no longer there. And instead of listening, he put up walls, focused on his life, his goals, because what he was doing mattered. What you needed didn’t. Not to him.

And when he looks back, he hates himself for it. For all the moments he chose his work, his career, over you. Over us. Thinking that being a pro hero, providing for the family, ensuring everything was safe and secure, would be enough to make you stay. Enough to keep you from wanting more. But that was never the problem. He never saw it, not until it was too late. You didn’t care about the things he thought mattered, the things he believed were enough to prove his love. You wanted him. Just him. And now, that selfishness—his lack of attention, his ignorance of your needs—has landed him here. And still, despite it all, there’s a part of him that wants to blame you. Even now. If you’d said something earlier, if you’d tried harder…

But he knows that’s a lie, too. Deep down, he knows it was his choice to ignore it. To dismiss you. To push you aside. And that realization hits him like a punch to the gut. He’s the one who let it all fall apart, the one who took the love you gave and turned it into nothing more than routine, something he could neglect without consequence.

His breaths become shallow, and suddenly his vision blurs. He blinks hard, trying to force back the sting in his eyes. No, no, not now. He can’t do this. Not here. Not in front of his dad.

“Whatever,” he mutters through gritted teeth, the words coming out rough. His voice cracks, but he can’t let it break.

He shoves past his dad, stomping his way toward the bathroom, his hands trembling.

~

Katsuki has a gnawing feeling that his dad spoke to his mother about the little… moment earlier at the door. Because the hag doesn’t utter a word about you during dinner, which is weird. She keeps having these moments where she’s clearly about to say something, but hesitates, glancing at Katsuki before abruptly changing the subject. Every time it happens, he grips his fork a little tighter. It’s bizarre.

Despite that, dinner goes off without a hitch—or maybe it does, Katsuki wouldn’t know. He’s in a daze, zoning out through most of the meal.

Now, the kids are playing with toys on the living room floor, and Katsuki’s trying his best not to check his phone to see if you’ve texted him. He’s spent the entire dinner avoiding it, but now it’s starting to feel impossible. That’s when his dad touches his shoulder.

Katsuki jolts slightly, whipping his head around, quickly dropping his phone onto his lap to hide his shame. He scowls instinctively.

“Will you help me and your mother tidy in the kitchen, son?”

Despite it sounding like a question, it’s really not one. It’s an unspoken command. Katsuki grits his teeth, but he doesn’t protest.

His dad’s gaze flicks briefly toward the kitchen, the quiet message clear, before he looks back at him. Katsuki knows what’s coming, even before he enters that kitchen.

"Yeah, whatever," he mutters, desperately trying to hide the shame coiling in his chest.

He stands up slowly, dragging his feet. He’s too damn tired to even bother trying to escape what’s coming. He knows this conversation is inevitable, and he doesn’t have the strength to avoid it anymore.

As expected, the kitchen is already spotless, and his mother is leaning against the counters with nothing but a blank face. 

Even though nothing about this situation feels casual, Katsuki decides to pretend it is. He strides into the kitchen, plops himself down in one of the chairs, and looks between his parents like he has no idea what's about to go down.

His mom doesn’t miss a beat.

“Katsuki, where is Y/N?”

Straight investigation style, he would laugh if this conversation wasn’t about to get very depressing. 

“She’s at some spa hotel, outside Tokyo,” he mutters, trying to shrug it off like it’s no big deal.

Her gaze hardens, her eyes narrowing as she presses on.

“And why is she there.”

He grits his teeth, irritation flaring despite himself. "Can’t my woman enjoy a weekend away? Jesus, you’re uptight." He leans back in the chair, trying to appear nonchalant, his arms crossing defensively over his chest. He’s not convincing anyone though, especially not his mom.

His mother, stays eerily calm, not biting back as she usually would to his behaviour. She doesn’t yell. Doesn’t demand an explanation. She simply waits.

"She’s been stressed," he mutters, almost as an afterthought, like he's trying to convince himself as much as anyone else. "Too much going on, with the kids, work... You know how it is."

It's a little more truthful, but still a half-hearted attempt to avoid the core of it. He leaves out the glaring factor—he is the unanimous source of most of this. His mom’s eyes never leave his, and he can tell she’s not buying it. Fuck.

“And what have you been doing, Katsuki?” Her voice is low, but the sharpness is there, cutting through the air.

“The fuck you think?” he mutters, his voice dripping with frustration. “You see me on TV. Same shit every day. I’m out there saving people, doing my job. What do you want from me?”

“For your wife, Katsuki,” she says, her tone firm and unwavering. “At home. What have you been doing for her.”

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t look at her. He’s afraid to.

“The fuck I’ve been doing?” he repeats, this time more quietly, though his frustration still simmers beneath the surface. “I’ve been working, putting food on the table. Making sure everything’s... taken care of.”

His voice cracks slightly, though he tries to mask it. He’s avoiding the real question. Avoiding what he knows—what they all know.

His mother doesn’t let it slide.

“For her,” she presses, her voice a quiet, insistent reminder. “Not just for the house, or the girls. For her. You can’t give everything to the world and leave her with nothing, Katsuki.”

What’s he supposed to say to that?

“She needs you, son,” his mother adds softly, her eyes searching his for something he’s not sure he has anymore. “Not just as a provider, but as a partner. A husband.”

He doesn’t know what sets him off—whether it’s his mother’s tone, the warm laughter of the girls in the other room, or the weight of his empty phone burning in his pocket.

But in that moment, Bakugou Katsuki, the pro hero everyone fears, breaks down in his childhood kitchen.

“I’m…” His voice cracks, unable to form the words properly. “I’m not good enough. I don’t know how to fix this.”

He hiccups his words, his father’s hands rubbing careful circles into his shoulders, trying to ground him, but it only makes him feel worse. He wants to pull away, to hide the vulnerability, but he’s too far gone.

He wishes you were here, the things he would sacrifice for it. To have you bring him close, to kiss the tears off his cheeks, to hear your soft voice telling him everything would be okay—that you know he’s trying, that you love him even in his mess.

But all he has now is his sniffling in the kitchen, the awkward silence pressing in, and his mother looking at him with nothing but pity. He’s never felt more ashamed in his entire life.

"Mom..." he starts, his words still coming out in ragged bursts. "I messed up. I... I thought I could handle it, but I didn’t. I thought... I thought being a hero was enough."

The words come like poison, the shame burning through his throat as his mother just watches him silently. 

She takes a long, steady breath, carefully considering her words, a rare softness in her tone. "I don’t know exactly what has been happening at home, son, but I know Y/N married you for a reason. She loved you when you were just a rookie, working constantly, because you made the time, you made the effort. She wants her husband back. It’s the little things, Katsuki. Don’t let your own neglect make you lose her."

"I know you can do it," she adds, her voice gentle but firm. "She loves every part of you. So let her see that again. Let her see you."

He wants to argue. To lash out and defend the way he’s been living. He wants to tell her he’s trying—he’s trying so damn hard—but the words don’t come.

Instead, he nods, stiff and uncomfortable, wiping his face with the back of his hand clumsily. 

He doesn’t know how to fix it all. He doesn’t know how to go back and make the changes he should have made years ago. But he does know this; the longer he waits, the further he drifts away from the person who used to be his everything.

~

After a shitshow of a day, he find himself crafting a text for you again. A new, sad, routine of his to feel close to you.

The message is light, almost mundane. Pictures of the girls at dinner and a small note about his mother asking after you.

He doesn’t expect you to reply, not really. But his sleepy eyes jump with surprise when he watches the typing bubbles appear. 

[10:36 PM] Wifey : aw, my babies. tell them I miss them. 

[10:36 PM] Wifey : I’m sorry that I missed dinner, your parents are lovely. 

Katsuki lets out a shaky breath, something warm spreading through his chest despite the ache that lives there. He can almost hear the words in your voice. If he allowed his selfishness to win, he would call you immediately just to hear it for real. But he knows it's not the moment. Not yet.

He types quickly, keeping the tone light, masking the vulnerability creeping through him.

[10: 39 AM] Katsuki : they miss you more. All Koharu does is pout. Haha.

[10: 39 AM] Katsuki :  dont worry about dinner. They will be here when you get back. 

When you get back. He adds it with a little more confidence than he feels, the hope that you will confirm, that you are indeed coming back, coursing through him.

[10:43 PM] Wifey : I should be home monday, the train comes in around 1pm. 

[10: 44 AM] Katsuki : Okay, looking forward to it. I’ll pick you up. 

[10:45 PM] Wifey : You don’t have to Katsuki, just because of how our last conversation went. I know you have work. 

Katsuki’s brow furrows as his fingers hover over the screen. He hates how distant that sounds. He doesn’t want you to feel like a burden.

[10: 46 AM] Katsuki : Do you not want me to? 

[10:46PM] Wifey : I dont want to force you

[10:47 AM] Katsuki: You’re not forcing me. I want to. I’ve missed you.

[10:47 AM] Katsuki: And if you’re up for it, maybe we can talk more when you get back.

[10:49 PM] Wifey : Okay, thank you. 

God, he hates how stiff and formal this has become. He swipes up to the previous texts, seeing how things have shifted over the past few months, and for the millionth time, he chastises himself. This isn’t how it was supposed to be.

[10:50 AM] Katsuki: Goodnight Sweetheart. See you soon. 

You like the message. Progress. 

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Reblogs and comments appericated! Also, send me requests on how you want it to go... what you think might happen !

this is so precious to me

wrong number

d.kaminari

-in which his hookup gives him the wrong number, and it just so happens to be yours.

MHA Boyfriend Texts !

๑ character’s included: bakugo, kaminari, kirishima

✧ cw: swearing, fluff, fem reader, usage of yn

ᴥ a/n: this is rushed so it IS buns but i wanted to put something out since i was gone for like 3 months ! So sorry (^_^;)

requests are open!

▽ masterlist

k. bakugo

d. kaminari

e. kirishima

I have this fully realized iida and spollen reader scene in my head. standing in the same room where it happened a month later. it's the first time they've been alone since.

shouto's okay with what happened. he's forgiven you. sex with him is supposed to erase iida's touch but...

You're more dissatisfied with your sex life than ever.

The two of you look at each other.

"How are-"

"Are you-?"

You talk over each other, then pause. You try to miss how he watches your lips when he speaks, with those pretty, deep red eyes you always knew were there.

"You go."

Iida clears his throat and adjusts his glasses. He looks the same as ever, but there's something about him that's changed for you, something that catches in your throat.

"How are you?" he tries. His own voice is wavering.

"Good! Good." You scuff your foot against the tile. "I'm good."

"That's..." he hesitates. "Good."

The air between you has changed. There's tension, weight.

"You?"

"Me? Oh. Better." Iida adjusts his glasses again. "Still a little-"

"Sore?" you interrupt. "Me too."

Your heart is beating hard, not out of fear. You should be afraid of him, how he overpowered you-

"I was going to say embarrassed," he said. "You're sore?"

Sore because of you. Aching because of the way you handled me, the way you fucked me so good-

"Only a little."

Iida sighs. "I'm so incredibly sorry."

"I know. It's okay." You step forward. He smells good. Not as good as he did while you were under, but still good. "You wouldn't have done it if it wasn't for the quirk."

Shouto doesn't make you cum. It's not because he doesn't try, you just...

"Of course not," Iida breathes. "I would never..."

The quirk made you cum. Not Iida. It wasn't because of him.

"It was a fluke."

Iida steps forward. The gap between you is barely a desk wide.

He wouldn't be able to make you cum again.

"It'll never happen again," he agrees.

The first breath, you look at each other. The second. his gaze softens, falling down to your lips one last time. The third breath can barely escape before he's on you, lips against your neck, hands tangled in your hair. It's brutal and confusing and intoxicating, like you're affected once again, but you can't help but kiss him back, holding him tighter.

You need to know.